Birds Eye View
by Esther-Channah
Summary: Birds of Prey ficlet. Lady Blackhawk shares a few memories with the Birds' newest recruit.


Birds-Eye View

Thanks to Kathy for the beta and Erin for the tip about migratory birds in California!

A/N: There were a few books I read as a kid that I had in mind when writing this. _Axe-Time, Sword-Time_ by Barbara Corcoran taught me about planespotting. I learned about the 'bat-bomb' from Kenneth Oppel's _Sunwing_. And the main inspiration for this ficlet—which ended up veering off in a completely different direction after all—was Hilary Milton's _Blind Flight._

**Birds-Eye View**

"How high up are we, Zinda?"

Zinda Blake turned her head long enough to favor her companion with a fleeting smile.

"S'pose you tell me, greenie?"

Charlie Gage-Radcliffe blinked. "Oh, right. Um… which one's the altimeter again?"

Zinda let loose with a theatrical sigh. "Top row and second from the right."

"Oh, right." Charlie slapped her forehead. "Got it. Looks like we're… Whoa! More than half a mile up." She glanced out the window of the Cessna. "Doesn't look like it—Oh!" She gasped, then laughed in sheer delight. "Oh, my gosh!" She pointed. "Falcons?"

"Close," Zinda grinned. "Unless I miss my guess, you're looking at Swainson's hawks. They've got a long trip ahead of 'em, still."

"Where to?" She kept her eyes glued to the windshield. The flock seemed to go on forever.

"Well, if I remember my birding days," the pilot said slowly, "they winter in Argentina. Platinum Flats is just about the halfway point for them." She frowned. "Unless this is a group that doesn't migrate, that is."

"Your birding days?"

"They match up pretty well with my plane-spotting days," Zinda said with another smile. "I must've been about your age, greenie. My job was to take note of any craft flying overhead and identify it in my guidebook. The Brits had the Royal Observer Corps—which did exactly what I was doing, only they got a snazzy title. Me and a bunch of other kids, we were just 'spotters'. America wasn't even in the war, yet, but once Paris fell and the Jerries took the Channel Islands, some folks had a feeling it was coming." She pulled back on the throttle, and inertia tugged them backwards as the plane rose several feet higher. She continued.

"My science teacher was one of them. He recruited a few of us to check the skies in the evenings. I was one of two gals to volunteer—the rest were guys," she sniffed, "most of who figured there was only one reason a girl would want to be out with the lot of them late at night."

At Charlie's snort, she grinned. "My brother taught me a few tricks to get them to back off. Anyway, I got used to watching for planes. And not just at night, when I was on duty. It got so I couldn't walk down the street without my head in the clouds. And just like it suddenly wasn't good enough for me to see a plane—I had to be able to tell an Adcox Student Prince from a Flettner Fl 184, I couldn't just spot a bird and not want to know what type it was." Her lips twitched. "And it didn't help that I'd been reading up on carrier pigeons. It made me wonder whether other birds might not also be trained to carry messages."

"Cool," Charlie said admiringly. "And?"

"And instead of pursuing that possibility, the top brass decided to try turning bats into mini-bombs and releasing them over Japan."

"Are you serious?"

Zinda lifted her palm to shoulder height. "Scout's honor. If we hadn't won the A-bomb race, that was our other option." She shrugged. "I wasn't following that project too closely. I did at first—when I thought maybe I'd get the job of ferrying the little rodents to Tokyo, but then I got my Lockheed and joined Blackhawk squadron and the rest is… history."

Glancing over, Charlie saw that Zinda was no longer smiling. Comprehension flowed. For Zinda, this was part of her past but it wasn't 'history' like something she'd learned in school. Zinda had lived this. She'd done this. And she was one of few people alive today who could remember it—probably as though it was yesterday.

"So," she ventured, "is this plane easier to fly than your Lockheed was?"

The smile was back. "It's different, kiddo. They're all different—but the more things change, the more they stay the same." Her voice grew warmer. "You have to make a few adjustments from time to time, but the early memories give you a good grounding." She grinned. "Here. You want to take the pilot chair for a few minutes?"

"M-me?" This was unexpected.

"You see anyone else in this cockpit, greenie? Let's start making you some memories. I'm engaging the autopilot. Come over here, and put your hands on the throttle." Her grin broadened. "And one day, when some wet-behind-the-ears kid asks you about how you learned to fly, you'll have your story to tell about how you got your own grounding." She sighed. "The truth is, greenie—Charlie—the only time I can really talk about the Hawks is when I'm giving over the tricks I learned from them. And if I pass them on to you and you pass them on to the next person it…"

"It'll keep them alive?" Charlie asked, nodding.

Zinda snorted. "Now that's maudlin. And I am _never_ maudlin, kiddo. Not even drunk. So forget about telling anyone else _that_ thought, cuz everyone who knows me knows that I would never admit to a sentiment like that. So come grab the throttle and let's get down to business." She made eye contact with the teen. "Ready, greenie?"

Charlie practically leapt out of her seat. "Aye-aye, Captain!" She saluted.

Lady Blackhawk chuckled. "Not bad… but greenie?" She winked. "That's 'Skipper' to you."


End file.
